Separate Ways
by irisis
Summary: Set entirely away from the office and any ongoing investigations, Separate Ways takes a close look at the friendships and possible romances between the main characters. Ultimately Nallen and Densi, but with some inevitable hiccups along the way.
1. Chapter 1 - Good Luck Charm

_Author's note: This story takes place shortly after the events of All Shook Up but it isn't necessary to have read it in order to get the most out out of Separate Ways._

* * *

Nell was enjoying the fact that the most difficult decisions she had been faced with that day involved coffee (a latte, one sugar) and new shoes (undecided). As she became more and more indispensable to Hetty and her agents at the Los Angeles contingent of NCIS, the amount of free time she was afforded was steadily evaporating under the increasing pressure.

Shopping trips were now a very infrequent luxury; truth be known she didn't particularly enjoy the trawling through stores part, but something she did truly appreciate was adding to her vast collection of boots. She admired the calf-high suede pair in her hands now and inspected the buckles more closely. Gently stroking the brown material under her thumbs she decided it was time to take a peek at the price tag on the sole.

"Don't you already have those?" Eric asked from over her shoulder, startling her.

She recovered quickly and carefully placed the boots back onto their display stand before turning to face him. "No, and I never will at $500. Now show me what you got."

He unashamedly held up two pairs of flip-flops for her inspection, one pair blue and the other green.

"Eric," she murmured in admonition.

His quickly placed both pairs on the nearest empty surface and pushed both hands deep into the pockets of his combat shorts. "Don't give me that look. You know I appreciate you giving up your Saturday afternoon to help me find suitable shoes for this evening. I just don't know where to start," he said in an apologetic sounding voice.

Nell uncrossed her arms. "Would you like me to choose for you?"

"Please god, yes," Eric replied, his relief evident.

She followed him to the men's section in companionable silence. She stood as tall and straight as her small stature would allow in stark contrast to Eric's poor posture and dragging feet. To the casual observer they gave the appearance of being an odd pairing, and not only because of their obvious differences in looks and style.

Feeling anxious and still determined to delay the task at hand, Eric attempted to deflect her attention as she began to browse the nearest display of formal shoes. "Did you find something to wear tonight? I have to swing by a 'Tux hire place on the way home to pick up my suit. I hate wearing a 'Tux; I don't know _how_ to wear a 'Tux. You know what? I don't think I should go."

"Hetty has loaned me the pleated Stella McCartney."

Eric's eyebrows rose sharply. "The turquoise rose print that's never been worn?"

"The one and only," she replied neutrally, giving in to a goofy grin but not taking her eyes off of the rows in front of her. "It's one of only a handful of dresses which fits me from a wardrobe tailored mostly for Kensi. What's your shoe size?"

"Fourteen."

This time it was Nell's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Wow," she mouthed silently, finding it difficult to resist the urge to make a comment she knew would only embarrass him. She spent a further minute deliberating before settling on a pair of Paul Smith black brogues .

When Eric spied the price he made as if to protest but she quickly cut him off. "We both know you can afford them because you barely spend any of your very generous wage. Now go find an assistant and try them on."

He gave her a mock salute and set off in search of a staff member. Determined to spend her wait for his return productively she strolled further into the men's section and began to browse some free-standing shirt racks. Knowing Eric as well as she did, she'd bet her bottom dollar that he didn't have a clean white shirt ready for wear under his Tuxedo.

As she pulled out a shirt for closer inspection, the back of her scalp began to tingle. She often felt the sensation when someone was paying close attention to her, or when something big was about to happen. She bit her bottom lip and resisted the temptation to look up. When the feeling began to intensify and she couldn't stand it a moment longer, she quickly turned her head and surveyed her surroundings.

All she could see was other shoppers going about their everyday business: an elderly couple surveying a sale display; a dark haired man trying on a pair of sneakers; a young mother pushing a red stroller. Appeased, she looked forwards, and her breath caught in her throat.

A very familiar figure stood some twenty metres in front of her, also browsing through shirts. His back was to her but she would know him anywhere given the vast amount of time they had spent together. He was in fitted blue jeans and an open leather black jacket, a thin white slice of t-shirt showing from underneath the hemline. As she took in these details her cheeks began to colour; why was she spying on him? The thought remained unanswered and she wondered instead whether or not to greet him. When more time passed and she still found herself rooted to the spot in indecision, she decided that the moment had passed and it would be best if she hurried out of sight. As she attempted to do so she collided with a large and warm body.

"You okay?" Eric asked, automatically bending down to pick up the shoes he had dropped. Without hesitation Nell joined him on the green-carpeted floor and placed a firm hand on his wrist to prevent him from standing up, her other hand making a shushing gesture.

"What's wrong?" Eric asked in a panicked sounding whisper, causing a twinge of guilt to run through her. Given the revulsions and violence they were faced with everyday at work, albeit from a distance, who knew what horrors he was currently imagining lay beyond the clothing racks.

"I have no idea," she said simply, more to herself than in response to Eric. Keeping her hand firmly on his, she raised her head slightly and peered around. Callen had moved away from their direction and looked to be joining the line waiting to pay at the cash register some forty metres away. She helped Eric to his feet and gestured helplessly in that direction.

"Is that Callen?" he asked in surprise, squinting. Nell winced at the loudness of his voice but thankfully Callen didn't turn. "Wow. Kinda hard to believe that we shop at the same store."

She regarded him with some surprise."I'm sorry, what?"

"He's a secret agent. A legend." Eric said, sitting down on a nearby cushioned bench and untying his shoelaces. "His clothes should be hand-crafted by the world's best tailor, not mass produced in Taiwan." When Nell began to laugh he continued hastily: "I'm serious. You wouldn't expect to see James Bond grocery shopping in Target, would you?"

"You're being ridiculous," Nell murmured, her attention on his feet as he tread up and down a short expanse of carpet. The shoes were a good fit.

"Really? I'm the one being ridiculous?" Eric asked. "_You_ were the one who hid from him."

Nell shot him a piercing glare.

"Okay – I have been known to hide from him too, on occasion," Eric conceded, slipping back into his canvas shoes. "He can be a bit intimidating."

Nell nodded in silent agreement.

Eric glanced over at the cash registers – Callen was currently being served. "But Nell, just three weeks ago you talked him into allowing you to take part in an undercover op – of your own design – which ended in you saving his life by diffusing a bomb with a paper-clip."

"Hair-clip," Nell corrected him gently, smiling at the memory despite the anxiety and distress she had felt at the time.

"A hair-clip," Eric repeated, admiring her wistfully. In the short space of time that had followed Nell's behaviour had altered subtly – there was no doubt that the experience had served as a catalyst. She was less tense in the office, more outspoken, confident; and most importantly in Eric's opinion, more respected. He envied her this, although he would never hold it against her. Hiding from work colleagues in a department store didn't tally with what he knew about her, and particularly not following those changes.

"What gives, Miss Jones?"

Nell was thoughtful before responding. "I felt awkward and overreacted. I've not seen him outside of work since our undercover op. Callen is beholden to very few people, Eric, and I'm not sure how he feels about my being one of them."

Eric, never good with awkward moments, nevertheless felt a response come to him naturally, borne from his great fondness for Nell. "For what it's worth, your bravery only increased my respect for you, Nell, and I'm sure Callen feels the same way."

Nell felt her face flush at the compliment and rested her head against his shoulder. The unexpected contact made him straighten momentarily.

He broke the contact reluctantly and they made their own way to the cash registers. Eric thanked the cashier, they left the store and headed towards the car park. The smell of pretzels and coffee filled the air. "So, did you have any luck finding out how old she is?"

"No," Nell admitted ruefully. "But it must be a big number, given she's actually willing to celebrate this year."

He nodded his agreement. "I wish we knew what it is she has planned. Surprise parties should be a surprise for the guest of honour, not the other guests."

"It's Hetty," Nell admonished, "When has she ever done anything predictable?"

"Exactly; it's Hetty," Eric stated matter-of-factly. "Aren't you the slightest bit worried about your personal safety?"

Nell pondered this for a moment. "She wouldn't let anyone get hurt. Not on her birthday, anyway."

"If you say so," Eric commented dryly.

"Just roll with it, Eric," Nell advised cheerfully. "Who knows, you may even enjoy yourself."

* * *

Alone in her car, she rested her head against the steering wheel and breathed deeply. She disliked misleading Eric; disliked it with a fierce intensity which bordered on hatred. They were partners, not romantically but in an even deeper sense. Others lived and died according to how well (or not) they worked together, a relationship built on trust and respect. And for the past few weeks she had felt compelled to hide something fairly significant from him: her feelings towards Callen.

She had long been physically attracted to Callen, something she suspected was not uncommon amongst those of her workplace peers who liked their crushes male and unobtainable. At times her interest in him would even cross the boundary into lust territory, but never for long. Her sense of duty prevented that.

Something significant had changed between them since their undercover op had ended successfully. Although she knew some of the change resided in her, the largest part lived within Callen. The balance of power between them had been irrevocably altered – he saw her as an equal now, in addition to the competent and intelligent analyst he had seen before. He would frequently seek out her opinion, and as unlikely as it would have seemed just a few short months ago, her advice on a wide variety of subjects.

After the first week of this shift she began to grow hyper-sensitised whenever in his company. Her chest would feel tight with every smirk, her abdomen ache when those blue eyes were trained in her direction. When they spoke on the phone her mind would wander and grow sluggish.

If he had noticed the new affect he was having upon her he kept the information to himself, which was a mercy; but it didn't change a thing.

The small and elegantly hand written invitation in her handbag complicated matters. In a matter of hours she would be in his company: he would be wearing a Tuxedo and there would be a free bar, a combination which could prove disastrous. The mere anticipation of seeing him was making her feel positively giddy, and so the chances of her frequently interrupting his speech, or worse, were high. He was a master of detecting a player's tell, and she knew she had more than one.

"Just roll with it," she repeated her earlier advice to Eric to herself, gathered up her purchases and walked the short distance to her apartment. She would make the best of an awkward situation. No doubt Hetty would have something spectacular planned for her birthday celebrations, and didn't Nell have a beautiful dress to wear and people she liked and admired to enjoy it with?

She had two voicemail messages, which she listened to whilst brewing tea in her favourite pot. The first was from Kensi, enquiring whether Nell would like to loan some jewellery. The answer was yes: Nell severely doubted anything less than a diamond was going to cut it tonight.

The second was from him.

"Nell, it's me. I need everything you have on the Gareth Smitten case first thing on Monday; didn't want to bother you with work details tonight. Thanks."

He had used one of her Callen trigger words: _smitten_. She gripped the tea pot more tightly, internally debated whether or not to replay the message, and settled on a cold shower instead.


	2. Chapter 2 - Harbour Lights

Despite quite possibly knowing Hetty better than anyone (living _or_ dead) Callen hadn't known what to expect from the bare minimum detail provided in her invitation, but what he found waiting upon his arrival at the harbour seemed somehow appropriate. A large luxury yacht was moored at the meeting point, a red carpeted walkway extended to entice guests aboard. As he closed the distance between himself and the vessel he could hear what sounded like a small orchestra tuning up, and as he got closer still further details became visible: a small compliment of crew scurrying about the top deck, well turned out waiting staff, and the growing swell of conversation and laughter coming from the guests. Hetty, dressed in a very expensive and expertly tailored looking navy pants suit, was visible on the walkway welcoming Deeks aboard.

"Nice boat you got here, birthday girl."

"Thank you, Mr Deeks, although I'm afraid it's only technically mine for the evening. A very generous gift from a long standing admirer. It happens to be the fifty-sixth largest of its kind in the world; or so Silvio would have me believe."

Deeks shifted over to make room for Callen as he approached, and Hetty gave him an admonishing glance. "You're late, Mr Callen. Another thirty seconds and I would have given the order to cast off without you."

Callen apologised sincerely and watched with interest as a crewman carefully withdrew the walkway. From somewhere deep beneath his feet the engines were beginning to stir awake. With a sense that something wasn't right he looked again at Deeks: the younger man was wearing black pants and a fitted white t-shirt.

"The invite said black tie, Deeks," he said in minor annoyance.

Ignoring Callen's tone, Deeks broke out into a grin. "I got it covered," he replied, turning to face Callen head on. The t-shrit had a black tie printed on to the front. Callen raised an eyebrow quizzically and looked to Hetty as if for explanation

"Oh, don't get me started," she said, turning on her heel and beginning to walk away.

Callen leaned heavily on the rail as the yacht began to pull away from the port and quickly picked up speed. It was an exceptionally clear night, a slight chill in the air the sting in its tail. The sadist within Callen was pleased to note that Deeks had goosebumps on his arms.

"Has Kensi seen what you're wearing yet?"

Deeks' smile faltered. "Not yet. Why?"

Callen walked away with a smirk; Deeks was feeling uncomfortable, job done. He decided to travel the perimeter of the outside deck and passed a few groups of people on his journey; he stopped here and there to make small talk before continuing on his route. One of the only certainties with Hetty was that she knew a wide variety of interesting people, and in this the company of his fellow guests did not disappoint.

He passed under a small marquee and ordered a drink from the small bar set up inside – whisky, neat - and crossed over to the starboard side. Being further away from the band and facing away from land this side was much quieter and he immediately noticed a female figure leaning over the rail; her head was lowered and so he couldn't make out much of her facial profile. She was small in stature with a very trim figure, and was wearing a pleated rose dress which stopped just above the backs of her knees. He took a moment to appreciate the toned, creamy white legs, the narrow waist, and finally, the fact they were both drinking the same poison. Perhaps it was fate.

There was no sense in pretending that he didn't know how good he looked in a Tuxedo; the odds were in his favour.

She turned to face him when he was less than three steps away and so it was far too late to abort when he realised that his target was in fact Nell Jones.

"Evening, Nell." He wasn't able to entirely hide the surprise from his voice, which bothered him. He was obviously spending too much time buried in paperwork lately and not enough keeping his covert skills sharp.

"Good evening, Agent Callen," she greeted him, tilting her head slightly towards her left shoulder. She appeared entirely unruffled by his unexpected presence and with an itch of discomfort Callen realised that he had been outmanoeuvred somehow.

He gave a nod in the direction of the squat glass tumbler in her right hand. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a whiskey drinker. You sure you're up to it?"

"Are you?" she asked. Her tone was playful, but there was a definite bite to her words. The smirk was well and truly wiped from his face.

He changed tact; fast. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said coolly, turning to leave. Her hand on his arm stopped him taking more than a single step.

"Stay a minute," she said, "you're a very welcome distraction." When he didn't respond and his face remained a mask of neutrality she explained: "I'm waiting for my motion sickness to wear off."

He gave a single nod towards her glass. "That will either cure you or kill you." He was rewarded with a smile.

There was a pause as they regarded each other surreptitiously, almost wearily. Callen wondered whether or not he should compliment her on her appearance – it was what had drawn him over here, after all – but decided it would be best not to. He didn't want to offend or embarrass her, or himself, further. So he changed the subject.

"Hetty seems to be keeping you more than busy lately."

She nodded in response. "How's your therapy going?" she asked boldly. Evidently she wasn't going to let him forget that she knew something intimate and private about him, despite his wishes to the contrary. A month earlier, on her birthday, she had stumbled – quite literally – over the fact that he was suffering from PTSD and was experiencing occasional flashbacks, especially at times of heightened stress. She had kept it to herself as promised, and in return he had sought out professional help in order to deal with the situation in his own way.

He looked into her eyes, saw the fierce intelligence within, licked his lips and ground out an answer. "Oh no, I'm not sharing any more secrets with you. In fact, I wanted to speak to you about one of yours."

The sudden change in her facial expression and body language gave tell to the fact she had just lost some of her bluster; he had succeeded in surprising her. Revelling in the knowledge that he was steadily manoeuvring back into a dominant position his own confidence began to flow back freely. He leaned in to her, as if about to share a confidence, and whispered into her ear: "I saw you this afternoon." He pulled away very quickly, keen to catch the shock register on her face. When he saw it, it almost made him feel too guilty to continue.

Almost.

"So what's the deal, Nell? You and Eric dating? Is that why you didn't want me to see you together?"

Her lips formed a thin line, and her posture shifted into a more defensive position. He had her on the ropes although he didn't really know why he was sparring with her. Perhaps the fact that she was a worthy opponent was reason enough.

"If you are," he continued, ready to land the finishing blow, "I would prefer that you keep it out of the office. There's no rule against analysts and technical staff hooking up that I'm aware of, but it could cause obvious... _friction_."

She actually shuddered in response to his final remark and he worried that he had gone too far, but her expression quickly hardened and she pushed away from the rail before he had the opportunity to give the thought further examination. "Eric and I are good friends. Nothing more," she said the words slowly, and quietly enough that he was forced to strain to hear her. "If you'll excuse me, I need a top up."

As he watched her walk away the adrenaline began to quickly drain from his body and he instantly regretted the way he had spoken to her, as well as his entire approach to the situation. He had never spoken to a supporting staff member in a derogatory manner before, and he certainly regarded Nell with respect and as an equal.

A memory came to him unbidden – at the end of Nell's first month with them, Hetty had asked him for his thoughts on how she was doing and what he made of the young woman during one of their weekly meetings. The question was merely a courtesy and not much more as both he and Hetty were fully aware. If Hetty had already decided that Nell was going to stay, that was that. Regardless, Callen had given it serious thought. He thought in particular about the glass half full/ empty analogy he had discussed with Hetty to sum up the personalities of his other colleagues. But what did Nell see when she looked at the glass? He was absolutely stumped.

"Churchill's quote: 'A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma', comes to mind," had been his answer. Hetty had appeared delighted by this.

"Something you both have in common," was all she had said on the matter.

He also didn't know what Nell saw when she looked at him. Did she see past the tired eyes and the responsibility that sat heavily on his shoulders? Perhaps she had seen too much of him: she knew he was broken, perhaps irrevocably so, after all.

There had been no flashbacks for almost a month. He was much more in control of himself. He trusted Nell impeccably: she wasn't going to spill his guts, not now. So why was he so rattled?

And then he knew: she had begun to analyse him in the way she would a suspect in one of their investigations. It could only be because she knew he was compromised, a risk, because what else could it possibly be?

As for his own actions, he would just have to chalk it up to the fact she had surprised him once again tonight and he had overreacted. Certainly, he would have to be much more careful around her in future.

* * *

Kensi was bored. Outwardly, as to not embarrass Hetty, she was listening intently to what the young and very handsome billionaire philanthropist who had offered her a champagne flute had to say. Her quick mind even allowed her to store away some of what he was saying on a subconscious level in order that she could participate in the conversation on a minimal level.

Inwardly, she was thinking of nothing but her partner. Deeks stood less than ten meters away chatting to a very attractive young blonde, but his eyes kept darting in her direction. Once or twice he stuck out his tongue and she almost lost it. Once, when he thought she wasn't looking, his expression was full of longing.

She tried to pull her thoughts away from him, but it was hard. It didn't help that he stood out like a sore thumb in his ridiculous t-shirt, or that he laughed louder and longer than everyone else.

_If you can't beat 'em, join 'em;_ as the words formed in her mind's eye she excused herself and joined Deeks. She looked his female companion up and down with a look of disdain. "If you're going to cheat, at least steer clear of jail-bait," she said the words quietly enough as to not cause of scene, but with enough menace to visibly frighten the girl who quickly retreated without a backwards glance.

"Oh, _c'mon_, Kensi. You have to stop doing that," Deeks said, seemingly annoyed. Kensi knew better.

Before she could reply she heard a familiar voice: it was Eric, who was seated at a nearby table with Nell. Glad of the distraction she joined them, followed by Deeks. Her eyes were immediately drawn to what lay beneath Eric's Tuxedo jacket.

"A Superman t-shirt?" she said incredulously, and at the same time Deeks said, "Nice choice, my friend," in an appreciative voice.

Eric shrugged his shoulders self-consciously. "It's the only thing I had clean," he said by way of explanation.

"Nevermind, worse things have happened at sea," Deeks said quickly. "Onto more important things: now we have a group together, how about we liven things up?"

Kensi and Eric groaned in response, whereas Nell brightened. "Charades?" She asked.

Deeks chuckled darkly. "I was thinking more along the lines of spin the bottle," she said, winking in Kensi's direction. She gave him a disgusted glance in reply, but it gave her an idea.

"Truth or dare," she said suddenly, giving Deeks a double take. Nell and Eric looked at one another uneasily but didn't voice any opposition.

"Looks like we got here just in time," said a disapproving voice from behind Kensi. She turned to find that Sam and Callen, both looking incredibly striking in their Tuxedos, had found them.

Callen patted his partner gently on the shoulder. "Oh, I dunno... it could be fun, Sam. Especially if we mixed it with a drinking game."

Sam shook his head, but was smiling. "You're seriously going to join them, G?"

It seemed to Kensi as if Callen hadn't quite made up his mind, and so it came as a surprise to her when he slid into the chair in-between Eric and Deeks. He said nothing to Sam, merely raised an eyebrow and gestured to the final vacant chair.

Sam however had already made his decision. "You want to join the children's table, go right ahead," she said in response. Although his words were somewhat harsh, his tone was easy and there was a mischievous glint to his eyes. "I'll swing by to pick you up later."

"Your loss," Callen called after him, setting his drink down on the table.

It took them less than a minute to hammer out the rules – last one to finish the round had to submit to a truth or dare – and less than thirty seconds after this they had their first victim.

Eric: truth; he had lost his virginity at the age of nineteen.

Round two ended just as quickly.

Deeks: dare; he managed to obtain the top hat, and drank the following round out of it.

During round three, things began to really get interesting.

"Truth," Nell said reluctantly, and Kensi judged it a wise decision – knowing this crowd it would probably be the lesser of the two evils.

Deeks rewarded her choice with the veracious grin he usually reserved only for when he was teasing his partner. "Awesome," he said loudly, "because there's something I've been meaning to ask you about for some time now, oh elusive one."

"Oh?" Nell asked, pleasantly enough, but with a brittle underlay.

"Oh?" Kensi echoed, in contrast her tone filled with suspicion and what she hoped Deeks would interpret as a warning not to get too carried away.

"You remember those flowers that were delivered to you at work?"

Nell laughed nervously. "That was a long time ago," she replied, taking another sip of her drink.

Kensi shot Deeks a sideways glance, wondering where he was going with this. Deeks either didn't notice or chose not to, his attention focused solely on Nell. He had even adopted what Kensi thought of as his official Detective Voice.

"You told Eric that you sent them to yourself."

Nell fired a quick questioning look in Eric's direction, but Eric looked just as baffled as she did.

"But Nell, I saw you take the delivery, " Deeks said; he spoke quietly so that the small group were forced to lean forwards in their chairs to hear him. He let an arm fall on to the back of Kensi's chair; she removed it none too gently. With a shrug he continued.

"You were surprised," he said, and since he was mildly intoxicated he qualified without needing to: "it wasn't the reaction of someone who was expecting them."

Nell looked down at the table, her embarrassment all too evident. Kensi frantically tried to think of something she could do to spare her any further discomfort, but found herself hesitating as the implications of this small revelation began to unfold in her mind.

"Then who sent them?" Eric asked, and Kensi couldn't tell whether he was addressing just Nell or the whole group.

"I have no idea," Nell replied, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Eric. " There was evidently a lot more she wanted to say to him, but not in front of a crowd. Instead, Nell reached out and squeezed Eric's hand gently. He smiled in response, but it was tinged with sadness. It was all too obvious to Kensi and to everyone else that Eric crushed by Nell's admission.

"You must have some idea," Deeks said, determined to press the issue.

"I don't," Nell insisted, releasing Eric's hand. "There was no note."

It was Kensi's intention to jump in here and move things along somehow (she would punish Deeks for his insensitivity later). But in the split second before her mouth could form the words to do so, Callen spoke. He had been so quiet she had almost forgotten he was there and it took her a few moments to make sense of what he said.

"It was me."

Four pairs of eyes were instantly trained on Callen and Kensi felt her mouth involuntarily form an 'O' shape; beside her Deeks seemed highly amused by this sudden twist and when he again let his arm fall onto the back of her chair she didn't bother to push it away. Nell was entirely unreadable and Eric the opposite: he was incredulous.

"You sent them?" Eric asked, followed by: "Why would you do that?"

"That one was for free," Callen responded with a smirk, raising his glass, "carry on and maybe you'll have the chance to get more out of me – if you up your game, that is."

As he raised the glass to his lips it was snatched away, spilling some of the liquor on to the front of his jacket. When he saw who was responsible any protest he may have uttered died on his lips.

"I invite you into the company of the world's most accomplished and sophisticated people and what do you do?" Although Hetty sounded exasperated, Kensi knew that really she was pleased to see them letting their hair down and have some fun for once. Nevertheless, she played along and tried to look remorseful.

"You set up a drinking game. You are loud and boorish," Hetty continued, warming to her theme. "You wear wholly unsuitable attire," with this she gave both Deeks and Eric a witheringly stare. "You should count yourselves lucky I haven't thrown you overboard." She paused and gave a nod in Sam's direction; he was in the process of offering his arm to a very elderly looking female guest who was having trouble walking to the bar. "Thank goodness at least one of you knows how to behave."

"You throw a mean shindig, Hetty," Deeks said in an attempt to placate her. "But c'mon, an open bar always leads to shenanigans. You know that."

As Hetty began to patiently explain social event management etiquette to Deeks ("if you are without the means to provide food and drink to your guests you have no business 'throwing a shindig', Mr Deeks") Kensi made a quick assessment of the sight before her: Nell, Eric and Callen were sitting in stony silence, looking everywhere but at each other.

There was nothing else for it. Oh boy was Nell going to owe her big time for this.

"We're dancing," she told Deeks as soon as Hetty next paused for breath.

"We are?" He asked, sounding both surprised and keen.

"We are," Kensi confirmed, standing and extending a hand to him. Already she could see that her actions were having the desired affect – all eyes were now on her and Deeks and the oppressive atmosphere was beginning to lift. Nell, Eric and Callen were no where to be seen, having presumably taken the opportunity to escape and collect their thoughts.

Instead of taking her hand Deeks placed his hands on her hips instead and firmly guided her the dozen or so steps it took them to reach the small area cordoned off for dancing in front of the orchestra. They had just begun to play the tango.

One of his hands moved to the small of her back and he confidently took the lead. Kensi felt herself surrender rather than fight against him. He raised an eyebrow and looked at her questioningly, but only for a few seconds.

Her unexpected invitation and failure to resist his direction had finally lit their fuse, and to hell with the consequences.

At least for tonight.


	3. Chapter 3 – Steppin' Out Of Line

The cool, sharp breeze that had prevailed all weekend had relinquished to a muggy, clammy and decidedly overcast Monday morning. Nell sat in her car parked on a quiet residential street. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel distractedly, wondering whether or not he would actually show up and not knowing which outcome she would honestly prefer. In a futile attempt to calm her frayed nerves she cranked up both the air conditioning and stereo. She didn't hear a word of the 7am news bulletin, but appreciated the cool air against her clammy palms. The moment she spotted the familiar figure exit a house three doors down and begin walking towards her car she muted the volume and felt her posture stiffen.

She unlocked the passenger side door and waited wordlessly as he slid into the passenger seat and passed her a tall travel-cup filled with coffee. He removed his sunglasses, positioned them carefully on top of the black dashboard and cast her a sideways, expectant, look.

"Thank you," Nell said, inwardly flinching at how squeaky her voice had sounded. She took a long sip of her drink, sought her courage, and forced herself to look at him directly. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she was sensing some nervousness on his side as well.

"Well, here I am," Callen said, his tone dismissive. "What was so important that it couldn't wait until I saw you at work?"

The fight almost entirely drained out of her there and then; however, there was far too much Type A within Nell Jones to allow him to brush aside his recent confession. His tone merely angered her instead: how _dare_ he act as if nothing had happened? He had to know the hurt and confusion he had caused.

"Eric is barely speaking to me -" And that was as far as she got before she was interrupted.

"Then you shouldn't have lied to him," he said lightly, his eyes now focused on something beyond the windscreen.

Her mouth fell open in surprise and the initial sensation of her temper reaching its boiling point kept her from immediately responding. She gripped the cup tightly, wishing dearly that she could throw it at his head instead and scald over his smug expression. "_I_ shouldn't have lied?" Thankfully, the words loosened from her in a hiss rather than the screech she had feared.

"It's not the same and you know it," Callen replied, his tone remaining, maddeningly, dismissive. "Mine was a lie of omission."

"And mine was a white lie to protect a friend's feelngs," Nell shot back, leaning towards him. "So don't you dare -"

"You honestly had no idea, did you?" Callen asked suddenly, turning to her once more. His expression became thoughtful and some of the coldness left his eyes. "With an IQ as high as yours I thought there was a pretty good chance that you would figure it out on your own. It's not often that I overestimate you."

Nell was silent for a moment and the sound of her slightly ragged breathing filled the air between them. "Of course I didn't know," she said finally. "Why would you of all people send me flowers?"

"Me of all people?" Callen asked slowly, as if not understanding the words.

She ignored him and repeated her own question; this time it was forceful, almost an accusation, and certainly not rhetorical. "Why _would_ you of all people send me flowers?"

Callen's hand moved towards the door handle, but appearing to have second thoughts, it dropped back down onto his lap instead. His eyes never left her face.

"I don't know," he admitted, taking in her pointed chin, the tightness around her mouth, and finally, the dark eyes. "To get your attention. I don't know why."

Nell closed her eyes briefly, contemplating his answer. As much as she would like to shriek at him, to insist that it didn't make any sense, that he _must_ know why, she didn't. He was being honest and she knew it in her gut. So where did this leave her? She had already known that she held - _inappropriate_ felt like the right word - feelings for him, and she now knew that he wanted her attention but didn't know why.

At a sharp, short knock on the window her eyes snapped back open; Sam Hanna stood on the other side of the glass, and oh boy he did not look happy. In fact, he looked downright livid. Worried, she glanced quickly at Callen who looked just as uneasy as she felt.

"Looks like my ride is early," he murmured, retrieving his sunglasses. Without further comment he opened the car door and joined his partner on the sidewalk. Nell waved hesitantly in their direction as she fastened her seat belt and put the car in reverse, eager to leave them to it.

Sam didn't return the gesture; he merely watched her leave.

* * *

Deeks left her bedroom as little as possible that weekend: of course, trips to the little boy's room couldn't be avoided, and neither could a quick dart to the front door (pizza delivery). He took a shower - but that didn't really count because she accompanied him – and periodically opened some windows to let some fresh air combat the stale air of the small home. That was it.

As was her nature she tried more than once to lure him into a serious discussion about the inevitable repercussions of their actions but he had been prepared and had managed to avoid responsibility's grasp every time. The weekend was theirs; let Monday worry about their careers and the thorny issue of whether or not sex equalled the beginning of a relationship. Even if Monday's dawn meant a return to celibacy between them so be it – or so he tried to reason to himself. He would rather push the thought far out of reach and concentrate solely on enjoying her mouth, her body, her spirit, and acquainting himself as intimately as possible with every millimetre of each.

Kensi went along with this for the most part but occasionally he would catch her staring into the middle distance with a forlorn set to her jaw and he just knew she was over-analysing the situation: worrying about her career, their future, and what they had given up. There was very little chance of them reverting back to being merely professional partners again – their entire dynamic had changed and there was no going back. This they both knew.

He didn't mourn this – if anything, he was glad, and saw it as a fair trade. He focused instead, during the brief time did allow himself to dwell upon the subject, on what he had gained.

When Monday did come, far too soon, he gathered his things and left before she stirred. He attempted to return to normality: he watered his neglected house plants, collected Monty and took him along for a long run along the beach. Less than an hour later he was back behind his desk, and she opposite, as if nothing had happened. They exchanged superficial humour, worked through a pile of cold cases, and he silently marvelled at the quick thinking, deep channels of her mind as he so frequently did on the job.

But it was just a show; too much had happened. When it came right down to it, it was them, or it was the job.

It wasn't a difficult decision. Deeks was going to resign - when the time was right. He had always known his role at NCIS was temporary. His time here had been challenging and worthwhile, enjoyable for the most part, and he was thankful to have had such an amazing opportunity; but it wasn't who he was. He was a cop, a damn good one too, and the time had come to return to it.

Even as he made his decision and began to deliberate over how – or whether – to tell Kensi, he began to realise that something was amiss. For the first half of the day he had been so absorbed in his own and Kensi's worries that he hadn't noticed., but something was definitely up. The heart of their team – their _family_ – had changed.

Eric had taken a sick day; his one and only. Nell seemed to have spent most of the day incinerating old files. It seemed as if she wanted to throw herself into the flames along with the rivers of paper and cardboard, such was her uncharacteristic compulsion with the task and her dark mood. With a stab of guilt Deeks recalled that his part in their game Truth or Dare had helped create this impasse. He wouldn't have stirred things up had he known the full story; namely, of Callen's involvement in how those flowers found their way on Nell's desk all those months ago.

Callen spent the whole day buried in paperwork, whereas Sam divided his time between the gym and the shooting range, sweating over some frustration or puzzle – nothing new there, except for the fact that neither Callen nor Hetty offered him challenge nor comfort.

Now wasn't the time for him to make his exit. Not quite yet. He needed to repair this family first, because it was the only one Kensi had. And she was all he wanted.

* * *

By catching up on over two months of his paperwork backlog Callen managed to avoid Sam for the majority of the day. He knew full well that Sam hadn't bought his story about meeting with Nell that morning to discuss that year's Christmas party was hoping that Sam would let the whole thing slide if he managed to put some distance between them. As was the natural ebb and flow of the tide of their lives, soon enough something wild and hazardous would divert their attention. Afterwards they could go back to normal, as they always did. In a few days Callen's unexpected interest in Nell would be just more water under the bridge of their friendship.

Only it wasn't to be; not this time. On his way out the building that evening Sam was waiting for him.

"I've known for weeks now that you're hiding something from me," he said, blocking Callen's exit with his large frame. "Now the way I see it, we have two options. Are we going to talk about this like civilised adults? Or do I put in a request for a new partner?"

They decided on coffee at a favourite haunt of theirs. Due to Sam's (certainly not unfounded, Callen had to admit) paranoia about not sticking to regular routines they didn't get to visit the café bar very often, but it had been a good few months since their last visit and so it was probably safe to do so now. Callen liked the place because it was close to the local hospital and so always brimming with life – medical staff and visitors provided a steady stream of people and it was effortless to people watch and get lost in the crowd.

Sam liked the place because Deeks didn't, and the more soulless and homely Deeks pronounced it, the more charming and quirky Sam insisted it actually was.

As soon as they sat down Sam began commenting on Callen's recent changes – his new habit of disappearing for a few hours every Thursday afternoon, the disappearing dark circles from under his eyes, the fact they saw much less of one another. Tired of holding back, Callen decided the time had come to share everything with Sam – namely, his post-traumatic stress disorder diagnosis and his visits to a counsellor.

"You're right, there is something going on with me," he began, shakily.

"You're seeing someone," Sam said suddenly. "Or at the very least, you have someone in your sights. I know the signs, G. Don't take me for a fool."

The pronouncement caught him off guard, and to his surprise he immediately thought of Nell. "No, it's not that." He hesitated. What could it hurt to talk this over with Sam, too? Naming no names, of course. "Well, maybe. I would need to be one hundred percent sure before I let anything happen with her."

Sam's expression quickly changed from resolute to confused. "Why not take things as they come; what's the worst that could happen? You're both consenting adults, right?"

Callen couldn't help but smile at that, particularly when he stopped to consider the ample amount of _adult fun_ that attitude had enabled him to savour on an almost exclusively casual basis during these most recent years. He shook his head gently.

"Can't do that, Sam. Not with this one. She's young, and although I get the feeling she's been hurt before she's much too upbeat to have suffered too much pain yet and I'm not going to be the one to cause any. Not unless I'm sure I want to give it a serious chance." Again he hesitated, wary of giving too much away. "Plus there's an added complication," he admitted, stirring extra sugar into his drink.

Sam's entire demeanour immediately altered and Callen knew he had already figured it out. Game over. After what Sam had seen that morning it had been naive of him to think he could skirt around the issue in such a blatant way.

"I know you don't have much of a life outside of work, but you really need to stop mixing business with pleasure," Sam said, stony faced.

Callen laughed. "That's rich coming from you," he retorted good naturedly.

"How did this happen?"

"I have no idea. It just kind of crept up on me."

"I'm not talking about your interest in a girl fifteen years your junior," Sam replied, his expression losing much of its gravity. "That I get. What I mean is, how did _this_ happen? Since when do we spend our evenings sitting in coffee shops talking about your love life? This is a new low for us, G."

Although Callen appreciated his attempt at lightening the mood he found his own temper becoming more serious. "I've been thinking about what you have, Sam, and I think that I maybe want it too. Someone in my life." The words burst out of him and he half regretted his honesty, but it was a relief to have finally admitted it out loud. "Someday," he qualified.

Sam regarding at his partner fondly and weighed his response carefully. "Honestly, I didn't think you were the settling down type," he paused here, then added: "Tracy notwithstanding, of course. You're-"

"Damaged?" Callen cut in, raising an eyebrow.

Sam held up both hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, I wasn't going to say that."

"It's okay, you'd be right. I am." He took a long sip of coffee to fortify his resolve and came right out with it. "I've been speaking to a therapist for the past four weeks – not for anyone else's benefit but my own, so don't give me that look – and it's made me see things differently. I even bought a bed," he joked, searching the other man's eyes for a reaction.

"A therapist," Sam repeated slowly, as if they were the only words Callen had said. Perhaps they were the only two he had heard. "Why?" He asked. With a shake of his head, he added: "And why am I only hearing about this now?"

Callen had been preparing for this moment for four weeks. He knew exactly what his answer was going to be. "I'm sorry, Sam. This was a path I had to find on my own. But I'm telling you now, and I'm asking for your support – that's what should count."

A number of different emotions played out across Sam's face: shock, anger, suspicion, and finally, resolve. "Does Hetty know?" He asked.

"No," Callen replied quickly, "and that's the way it needs to stay for the time being."

Sam didn't argue, but Callen was painfully aware that he didn't give his consent either. There was evidently another question Sam wanted to ask, but he hesitated, as if knowing somehow that he wasn't going to like the answer. "Does Nell know?"

Their eyes met across the small table. For a fraction of a second Callen considered telling a lie. But he couldn't. He looked down, and Sam had his answer.

Sam sighed, long and hard. "I won't say anything," he said quietly, "I'm with you, as always - however you want to play this." He drained the last dregs of his coffee and looked at Callen solemnly. "But I gotta say, I don't think it's a good idea to keep it from you know who."

"Thanks; I'll take that on-board" Callen said gratefully. He stood quickly, keen to avoid discussing the Nell issue directly with him, or his PTSD – Sam had enough to digest for now. "Let me get these," he said instead, making his way to the counter, not giving Sam a chance to respond.

He opened his wallet as he waited for the cashier's attention and found a white piece of notepaper tucked between his dollar bills. Startled, he cast a furtive look around the small store to check whether he was being watched before unfolding it.

_Now that I have _your_ attention; meet me at 9pm. You know where_

The first thing he did was look at his watch: 8.30pm. The second was wonder how Nell Jones had managed to plant the note in the wallet that had remained in his jacket pocket, slung over the back of his chair, the entire working day.

The third thing he should have done, he later reflected, was consider whether or not to go. But at that moment in time there was no question.

He planted what he owed, plus a hefty tip, on the counter and began to make his way back to Sam with the intention of making his excuses and somehow making a 45 minute drive condense into one of less than 30 minutes.

Instead, he found himself in the path of a tall, leggy blonde in a paramedics uniform with mischievous glint in her green eyes.


	4. Chapter 4 - Fever

"You done?" Deeks asked, his tone impatient.

"Done and dusted," Kensi replied, closing the partially dilapidated door to the shack carefully behind her. She shrugged back into the comfortable looking denim jacket he held outstretched and with a flick of her hand her long thick hair was pulled over the collar and left to cascade down her back in a ponytail once more.

"Gonna leave me hanging, hey?" he enquired mockingly as they made their leisurely way back down the Manhattan Beach pier in the direction of land. The evening sky had turned overcast, what had been a promisingly spectacular looking sunset now lost behind large dark clouds.

He didn't care; let it rain, it wouldn't dampen his mood. He was on an actual, honest-to-God date with Kensi at long last. It had started, as was typical, with dinner, followed by a drink (or three). Atypically, the lady had then announced that she had a standing appointment with a medium and here they were. "What did Mystic Marion have to say? Any more tall, blonde and handsome strangers on the horizon?"

"Okay, first of all, I was not there for a reading – as well you know," Kensi answered with the ghost of a smile. "She's an informant – retired informant," she correctly hastily, "who I check in on now and again."

"Oh, okay, I gotcha. Checking in. For twenty-five minutes," Deeks said sarcastically, deftly side stepping the play punch she aimed at his abdomen a moment later.

"I told you not to wait," she said, her tone mock stern, and snuggled close to him when he put a warm arm across the back of her shoulders. The little black dress beneath her jacket did little to ward off the slight chill in the air. "She may have given me some... _advice_. But it was _not_ a reading."

Outside her field of vision, Deeks's grin broadened. "Do tell."

"I'm going to regret this," she sighed, and continued somewhat reluctantly."She said that I work too hard."

He suppressed a laugh; barely. "Kensi, that applies to pretty much everyone in L.A."

She pulled away slightly and gave him an warning glance. "What's your point?"

"You know the game as well as I do," he replied after a moment's hesitation. "Only recount stuff that applies to most people, and then throw in some contradictory lines that don't make much sense, like: you're determined, but also indecisive; confident, but shy."

She gave every appearance of being hurt by his words but he knew her well enough to know she was teasing.

"You know the psychology involved as well as I do," he continued, warming to his theme. "The things that don't apply to you, you forget because your mind is so keen on fixating on the flattering attributes that do sound familiar. We use a similar technique in some of our interrogations."

When she remained silent he began to worry.

"Kensi, you're starting to scare me here. Please tell me you don't seriously buy into the whole psychic crap."

She tutted and shook her head with a theatrical flourish, evidently keen to continue her playact. "Just maybe Mystic Marion is the real deal. Or are you too closed-minded to accept the possibility?"

He stopped walking and frowned, but not in response to what she had said. "Let's see: did she predict this?"

For a moment she thought he was referring to the recent changes in their relationship but when his posture stiffened and his eyes remained fixated on something ahead she grew alarmed. It took her a few seconds to register exactly what it was he was staring at because of the deepening gloom, but once the realisation hit her adrenaline began to rush.

What she saw made no sense. Not fifty meters away in an outdoor seating area a couple who were unmistakeably Callen and Nell were sitting close together. A candle burned low in-between them, and Callen was studying Nell's face intently as she spoke. Nell kept her head low, and even from this distance Kensi could tell the younger woman was nervous – she was fidgeting with her glass.

Wordlessly, Kensi directed Deeks under a nearby weather shelter which obscured them from view lest Callen or Nell look in their direction.

"Are you okay?" Deeks asked. "Jesus, you look like you're having a heart attack."

"A heart attack would be preferable," Kensi snapped, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths, her head resting against the rear wall of the shelter.

Deeks studied her face with concern. "Do you think it's possible that you're overrating just a tad? They're two people who work together out having a quiet drink. It doesn't mean they're having sex."

"Two people like us?" She asked sharply.

Deeks raised an eyebrow. "Okay, bad example. But Kensi, even if they are having sex, what does it matter? They're both consenting, single adults."

"Callen and Nell," Kensi hissed, as if doubting what they had both just seen. "Callen _and Nell_, Deeks."

"Okay, so it's an unexpected pairing, I'll give you that," he conceded. "Then again he did just admit to sending her those flowers."

Kensi gave a slight nod of her head. Deeks was right. So much had happened within the small confines of her own personal life since that night that she had pushed Callen's 'confession' out of mind. She began to slow her breathing until at last it began to even out.

If she didn't know better, she would say she was overcome with blind jealousy.

With a sudden, sickening wrench in the pit of her stomach she knew Deeks was having the same thought.

"They're leaving," he said, emotionless.

Not wanting to see more but knowing she had to, she peered briefly around the corner and watched as Callen walked Nell to the parking lot, arms linked.

Deeks was watching her with a mixture of emotions now playing across his face. Suspicion. Hurt. Confusion. They mirrored the feelings within Kensi perfectly.

The situation was far more complicated than it appeared - he should have known. He had been planning his resignation in order to make a proper go of things with a woman who whose heart didn't belong to him. Not even remotely.

* * *

An unwelcome sensation began to creep over Nell, one she very rarely indulged in: doubt. He was twenty-five minutes late and she probably should have left at least twenty of those minutes ago. She had never been stood up before. Then again, she had never slipped a note to someone she liked before, grade school notwithstanding. It had been a juvenile like thing to do, but then desperate times and all that jazz.

She was stood halfway down the Manhattan Beach pier, or more specially, on a giant walk on piano floor that remained on night and day to keep the tourists amused. Callen had made her aware of this exact location on her first working day with him – it was their emergency rendezvous: distinctive enough to find easily, and just public enough to offer some protection. Thankfully, she had never had a (legitimate) need to utilise it.

He was standing beside her. She started, having not heard or seen him approach. He didn't greet her or apologise for being late but merely stared at her feet. Following his line of sight with a feeling of unease she belatedly realised that she was standing on the 'G' key.

"Fitting," he said wryly, hands in pockets, leather jacket zipped up to protect against the crisp air.

"So you did get my note," she commented, tightening her neck scarf.

"Oh, I got it," he replied, leading her away from the walk on piano and towards a nearby drink stand which was still serving. "And I'm going to take a stab in the dark and assume that you're not in mortal danger."

She grimaced. Well, at least he had known in advance; and he had come anyway. They joined the small queue and he moved closer to her.

"You shouldn't abuse the emergency meet up spot," he said, not unkindly. "You know what happened to the girl who cried wolf, right?"

"Maybe I want to be eaten."

He appeared genuinely shocked by her response, but his stupor quickly gave way to frank amusement. He laughed aloud in an entirely unguarded way she had never seen in him before.

"I'm serious, Nell. It's as sacred as the bat signal, and you wouldn't misuse the bat signal, would you?"

Now it was her turn to laugh, which attracted a few not unfriendly glances.

"I don't like you being out so late alone," he said seriously. "We could have had this conversation at my place."

"So we're actually going to talk about this?" She asked, caught off guard somehow. She had been expecting more of a fight.

"I said everything I had to say this morning," he replied quickly. "But you hardly got a chance to speak. Now's your chance."

Now that her opportunity was indeed here she found herself at a loss for words. With a tingling feeling of jealously and oddly, pride, she noticed that a small group of nearby women closer to his age than hers were staring at Callen in transparent appreciation, whispering behind their hands like a bunch of teenagers.

_So it's not just me he has this effect on, and not just me he can make feel like a quivering school girl. That makes me feel somewhat better_, she thought to herself.

With that thought she decided to keep things simple, and to say what she felt. Nothing but the truth.

'I've been thinking a lot about you lately. Since our, uh, work trip last month," she said for the benefit of anyone who may be eavesdropping.

He bought them both a soft drink from the counter and motioned to a nearby table. Despite the relative cold and the rain clouds on the horizon the outside seating area was fairly busy. She sat and waited for him to settle in his own seat before continuing.

"Whatever your motivation, I'm glad that it was you who sent those flowers-"

'Wait," he interrupted. His tone was firm but she detected an edge of supplication. "I'm going to ask you to think carefully before you say anything further, Nell." He licked his lips. "We work together. There are... rules."

She studiously drummed her fingernails against the cold glass, causing the ice within to rattle. This was not going as planned. Since when did Callen play by the regs?

"Besides which," he continued, as if reading her thoughts, "I have a lot going on at the moment."

She inclined her head slightly. Post-traumatic stress disorder: trust Callen to make it sound so trivial.

"I'm not sure I'm in the market for a relationship."

She wanted to protest – who said _she_ was in the market for a relationship? Maybe she was just after some fun and was happy to see where things led. Or maybe she wasn't interesting in starting anything at all. Before she could voice this he was laying down yet another obstacle in their path.

"And there's a sizeable age difference."

She took a long sip through her straw and winced when the cold liquid hit her front teeth. "From what I've heard, I don't think you need to be concerned about not being able to keep up with me," she interjected mischievously and was rewarded with a half smile.

"No concerns there," he replied, making short work of his own drink, "but it's fifteen years, Nell. A gap like that can cause problems, even when everything else is... well, normal, and the older guy has a regular nine to five. Furniture. A first name," he added dryly.

She felt herself growing defensive, her cheeks warm. She spoke without really thinking, her voice breaking slightly. "This was a great idea. Thanks for letting me have _my_ say."

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Then there's Eric," he said matter of factly, catching her once again completely off guard. His other concerns she had well been expecting, but not this.

"Eric?" she repeated, obtusely.

Callen leant backwards in his chair and appraised her with surprise. "You know he's in love with you."

She felt dizzy for a moment; of course, the words made perfect sense. Of course Eric was in love with her – he didn't try to hide it, had always been open, if shy, about his feelings towards her. However, she had never allowed herself to go too far down that avenue of thought before – she cherished Eric, and knew that no one knew her better. She would take a bullet for him, just as Callen would for Sam. If she was honest, she enjoyed flirting with him – she had always had a flirty nature - but it had been wrong to continue to do so when it had been obvious to so many for so long that Eric's feelings ran far deeper and rawer than her own.

"I don't love him," she said, quietly, as much for her own benefit as Callen's.

"I know," Callen responded blankly, as if to a child who was stating the obvious.

"I care about him. I enjoy his company," she said, more earnestly this time. "We're friends," she said, her voice rising. A mixed feeling of guilt and relief began to gnaw at the pit of her stomach.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Nell."

"Callen, I don't -"

He placed a hand over hers, silencing her. "I'm going to walk you back to your car and make sure you get home at a reasonable hour. It is a school night, after all."

They rose together and she stayed silent, her mind whirling, wondering whether his last comment was another dig at the age gap between them. As she fell into step beside him on the broad-walk she caught a flash of movement in the corner of her eye. Puzzled, she turned and scanned the area thoroughly. She couldn't see anything suspicious, but couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She gripped Callen's arm.

"Callen," she cleared her throat and took another quick look over her shoulder despite her resolve to appear natural. In doing so she missed the brief look of desire in his eyes. "I think there's someone following us."

Callen smiled easily and quickened his pace. She noted that he didn't remove her hand. In fact, he folded it under his arm, pulling her against him in the process, arms now linked "I know."

"You.. know." Nell repeated slowly, accusingly. Before she could ask him to elaborate he briefly placed a finger over her lips and did so without being asked.

"Kensi and Deeks. They've been watching us for at least five minutes." His tone was casual; maddeningly so. 'They're being very sloppy about it. I'm disappointed - I thought Sam and I trained her better than that. Deeks on the other hand I can thankfully take no responsibility for.'

She took a deep breath and looked skyward. A car passed slowly on it's way out of the lot, music coming softly from the open window: Cutting Crew – Died in Your Arms.

When he said nothing further she stubbornly refused to ask him to speculate on why Deeks and Kensi were spying on them. She wondered what the pair were making of the scene before them. It must look like...

As the thought occurred she swiftly removed her hand from the crux of his arm and put some distance between them. He shot her a questioning look, but didn't challenge her. They had reached her car.

'Thanks for the-"

That was as far as she got, because his hand was now cupping her cheek. Not gently, but not quite forcefully either. Would he ever let her complete a thought, a sentence, a resolution?

There was an odd look on his face, as if he was uncertain. She hadn't seen it before and wasn't sure that she liked it.

'Nell." His thumb moved slowly, deliberately, across her cheekbone. And then oh so gently and briefly across her lips – and then it was gone and by his side again. His voice was hesitant. "Sleep on things," he said finally, opening her car door for her.

She made no move to enter the vehicle.

'We don't know one another well yet," he said, and she wondering who he was trying to convince. "But what I do know I like. You're competent. Resourceful.' He paused, and seemed to be making sure that she was looking directly at him. 'Beautiful.'

She sat down – she needed to. She contemplated briefly as to whether she should give him the satisfaction of a return compliment.

"Thanks for the drink." She said instead, closing the car door quickly lest she be tempted into saying more, and pleased with herself for getting the last word for once.

* * *

_Updates will now be once a week (Sunday evening) :D_

_28/01/13 Author's note: I wanted to address this as it's become an FAQ with this chapter: this story contains no Callen/Kensi. Kensi has a very strong reaction when she spots Callen and Nell, but it is not because she harbours romantic feelings for him (not in this universe, anyway! There are lots of lovely Callen/Kensi fics elsewhere on if that's what you're after). However, Deeks wrongly assumes this is the case because her reaction is so out of character._

_Perhaps my storytelling wasn't clear enough judging by the amount of people this has upset, but I don't intend to re-write the scene as Kensi's reaction is fully explained later on in the story and it was always my intention to inflict some of Kensi's confusion on the reader._

_For the avoidance of any lingering doubt: **everyone gets a happy ending**. **Kensi is not into Callen**. However, without giving away too much, someone is going to get their heart stomped on, so if you're after a story where true love runs smoothly (boring, in my opinion, but whatever floats your boat!) this may not be the one for you. Consider that fair warning. :)  
_


	5. Chapter 5 - You Were Always On My Mind

Sam tightened his already strong grip on the punch pad to compensate for his sweating palms as Kensi let a volley of blows fall upon the red leather surface. Without warning she pivoted quickly on her left leg and swung her right in the graceful arc of a mid-level kick – he lowered the pad to meet the movement just in time.

She repeated the action: bounce; pivot; spin, connect, withdraw. Kensi's strength in combat had always been her fast reflexes and ability to always think at least a step ahead of her opponent and not her, well, _strength_. However, this morning she was sparring clumsily, if forcefully, as if she had a lot of energy to burn and didn't care how she did it. Which usually meant...

"Boy trouble?" he asked in between hits, mock sympathy underlining his words. It earned him an upwards elbow which threatened to knock him a step backwards in return.

Kensi bounced on the soles of her feet for a few moments, her breathing slightly ragged. "I don't date _boys_," she growled, readjusting her guard both physically and, Sam suspected, symbolically. More than a few stray hairs had escaped from her twin plaits, many of which were plastered to her forehead with sweat. Strictly from his position as a happily married man with zero romantic interest in his workmate, Sam was still able to appreciate how beautiful she looked when she glowed when sparring. He simply didn't know whether to feel sympathy or anger for the man who had inspired her current mood.

They kept up their violent dance for a few more minutes, until he motioned for her to take a break before she sprained something. He tossed the pad aside and watched wearily as she drank deeply from her water bottle.

"Seriously, Kensi; everything okay with you?"

She fixed her eyes on the shaking fingers which were screwing the top back on her bottle. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it's six am on a Saturday. I'm always the only one here at six am on a Saturday," he stated simply. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy her company and appreciate having an early morning work out partner for once – he did. He did, however, find it difficult to focus when there was obviously something heavy on her mind.

"I'm fine, Sam," she said quietly, pulling her gloves back on. He didn't believe her, but he didn't push the issue. That wasn't his way when it came to Kensi. Instead, he made a mental note to consult with Callen.

Their dance began afresh: Breathe; rise; connect, withdraw.

* * *

Nate was glad to be back in LA, although he did slightly resent the fact it would only be for the weekend. He pushed the feeling aside and reminded himself, not for the first time, that he had asked Hetty for this life. In fact, begged would probably be a more accurate description.

He'd caught up with Rose; visited his favourite independent book-store and bought nothing, simply enjoyed the browsing; and above all else, let the peace of being close to the Pacific Ocean assail him. In recent years he'd spent too much time landlocked, and the nature of his most recent assignment meant he saw daylight less and less each day.

He took the time to breathe the sea air deeply and let the tension slowly unwind from each and every muscle and sinew.

As with anything involving Hetty, he knew it wasn't simply a pleasant coincidence that his short leave had coincided with Sam's forty-fifth birthday. Sam's wife Michelle had ensured that Nate received an invite to the birthday dinner being held in Sam's honour on Sunday evening via Callen. The gesture had been unexpected but very welcome. He still felt very close bonds of kinship with his old team-mates and was appreciative of every reminder that the feeling was mutual, especially with the passage of time.

Both Kensi and Nell had unexpectedly offered to take him to dinner that night. When he had suggested to Kensi that the three of them go together, to his alarm she had reacted with hostility. Feeling torn, he had reluctantly called Nell to decline her offer but made it very clear that he was looking forward to seeing her at Sam's birthday dinner tomorrow evening. Nell had sounded disappointed during their short phone call but also, somehow, relieved.

It wasn't just that Nate didn't like deceiving Nell; it also made him feel afraid. Nell had an uncanny way of seeing through people which, when coupled with her high intelligence, could make her dangerous. Whatever had happened between her and Kensi, he knew Kensi was not only his best way in, but also his best shot at diffusing the entire situation.

If it were even possible to do so, and with that thought came the return of a small snaking tension in-between his shoulder blades. He arrived to dinner early and when Kensi arrived he stood quickly to embrace her and pull out her chair. She sat smoothly and smiled widely at him as he returned to his own seat.

"Long time no see, stranger."

"Too long," he agreed. "How are you?" He asked, motioning to a nearby waiter to fill her wine glass.

He couldn't help but wince visibly a moment later as Kensi drained the entire glass in a single reflex, but nevertheless motioned to the amused looking waiter to fill it again. To Nate's relief she merely sipped at it this time.

"That good, huh?"

Putting both elbows on the table, she rested her chin on top of tightly clasped hands and regarded him steadily. "I need this to stay between us, Nate."

His hand, which had been lifting his own glass to his mouth, froze. In a way he had been preparing for this moment since shortly after Kensi had met Deeks and he had temporarily joined NCIS as a liaison officer. He assumed that they had finally crossed the line and fallen into bed, or perhaps had an awkward yet frank discussion about their feelings. Perhaps Nell had stumbled across it, and had felt duty bound to tell Hetty, as unlikely as that seemed. What Kensi said next blew his theory out of the water.

"It's about Callen."

He placed the drink slowly, deliberately, back on to the table, trying yet failing not to let his surprise show. "What?"

It was the wrong thing to say, and Kensi visibly tensed in response. "You know what? This is really unfair. I've not seen you in weeks and this is turning into a counselling session when what I should be doing is asking about what you've-"

"Kensi," he interrupted, almost sternly, to be sure he had her full attention. "You know I don't mind. In fact, I owe you one on that score." The last time he had seen her, over a quick breakfast before heading for LAX, he had been pretty cut up about his awful handling of the case where Rose had been a suspect. Kensi had let him pour his heart out for a solid forty-five minutes, hadn't been judgemental, and had offered compassionate and sound advice. It had helped.

She looked as if she was going to protest some more but he silenced her with a severe look. "It seems to me like you really need to get something off your chest," he said gently, and she capitulated.

"Do you know if he's dating anyone?" She asked baldly, and again, Nate was flummoxed. As far as he knew or had ever suspected, Kensi felt nothing for Callen further than their - undoubtedly robust – friendship, and a keen respect for his mentor-ship. He was very rarely wrong about these things, which was why he did what he did next.

"Not that I know of," he said lightly. "Why?"

She cleared her throat and opened her menu. He did the same. If a lack of eye contact made this easier for her to say, then so be it.

"I was on a date a few weeks ago and I saw him. He was on a date, too. I think. It's left me feeling..." she paused and appeared to search for the right word. "Confused."

He took a quick peek over the top of the menu; her eyes were still downcast and steadfast. He would need a steady hand for this. "Confused?"

"I think..." She took another sip of wine. "Maybe..." Eyes back to the menu. "I'm having daddy issues," she said the last words so quietly he had to strain to hear her. "I felt insanely jealous of the woman he was with – but not because I want Callen, not like that.

"It just _really_ annoyed me that he was spending time with another girl. Woman." She lowered the menu slowly, brought her eyes up to meet his. What she was about to say next was clearly difficult for her to share. "The only other time I remember feeling that way was when my father once brought a girlfriend home."

Nate absorbed this silently as Kensi ordered her food. Once he had also ordered, he was relieved to see that her eyes were no long shining with the threat of tears.

"Callen's not your father," he mused aloud, "but he's definitely been like a big brother to you. It's only natural you would feel that way." He paused, wondering whether or not to probe further. He did.

"But that doesn't fully explain the obvious turmoil you're in. I'm guessing there's more to this?"

Kensi looked to the ceiling briefly, smiled self-consciously, then met his eyes squarely. There was a slight blush to her cheeks, something he had never seen before. It made her look much younger. "Deeks was the date."

"Callen's date?" Nate asked, now doubly confused.

"_My_ date," she corrected, and her smile widened. But then she suddenly grew serious again. "Deeks saw how upset I got about Callen. He's been avoiding me since."

Nate placed an outstretched hand gently on top of hers. "You guys finally got together?" When she didn't respond, he removed his hand and asked, "So what's the plan?"

She didn't hesitate. "Win him back."

Nate felt a slow grin spread across his face. "I have no doubts about that," he said. "Actually, I was referring to work. Or, more specifically, Hetty. As you know there are certain, uh, regulations, when it comes to interpersonal relationships betweens colleagues in our line of work."

"I'm not thinking that far ahead yet. One problem at a time," Kensi said, uncharacteristically dismissive, giving Nate the biggest clue yet as to how much her rift with Deeks was hurting her. "Although I could always ask Callen for advice," she added, and there was an unmistakeable hint of malice to her words.

Nate watched as she drained another glass dry. As he was still on his first glass he had some serious catching up to do but not until he unravelled this entire thing. "What do you mean?" He had a feeling Callen had been out with someone he wasn't supposed to be close to, and one obvious suspect stood out. He feverishly hoped he was about to be proved wrong.

He wasn't.

"I saw Callen with Nell," Kensi said, focusing on the stem of the glass as she slowly turned it between thumb and forefinger.

Callen and Nell? Although from what he knew of her romantic history Callen was definitely Nell's type – older, experienced, not too tall, in a position of authority – he had to admit he was surprised that Callen would be interested in Nell. He typically went for what Nate regretfully thought of as 'disposable' women – not much between the ears, not too hurt when he broke it off the next morning.

Then again, Callen had also fallen for his share of short, feisty and fiercely intelligent women, particularly through his line of work. Perhaps he shouldn't be as surprised as he was by the pairing.

"You're hurt that Nell didn't confide in you," Nate said conversationally, feeling he owed it to his other friend to defend her, "but tell me Kensi; did you tell her about you and Deeks?"

Kensi looked at him blankly. Gotcha.

The last few strands of tension from in-between his shoulder blades melted away.

* * *

Sam had chosen a high-end bar and grill to hold his birthday dinner. As well as familiar faces from OPS, plus Nate, there was also plenty of people from Sam's family and friends in attendance, causing Nell to idly wonder what cover story they were going for tonight. It was undeniably a nice place. Both upholstery and ambience hinted at quality rather than the ostentatious. A little over half of the restaurant's thirty tables were filled with people here in his honour tonight, and Sam seemed very comfortable in his role as host – despite the absence of his wife, who had helped to organise the event.

"Called away at the last minute. Work," Kensi had said by way of explanation when Nell had commented on Michelle's absence. Nell had been too relieved to discover Kensi's recent dark mood was thawing to wonder too much at how Sam was managing to stay so cheerful and upbeat despite the situation. From what little she knew of Michelle, the woman had probably threatened Sam with slow torture should he throw away all the hard work they had jointly put into arranging the evening by cancelling or, worse, not enjoying himself; at least on the surface.

Nell's seat was next to Eric at the end of a table of ten – they were joined by Hetty, Nate, Kensi, Deeks, two faces from Ops she couldn't match with names, and two empty seats facing her and Eric. Presumably they were for Callen, who was late, and for Sam, who was going to sit at each table in turn to ensure he had a chance to mingle with all his guests.

Just as Nell was beginning to worry about Callen's lateness, she heard Hetty greet him from the other end of the table.

"Mr Callen, it's about time!"

Nell broke into a grin. She simply couldn't help herself. The entire team had been so preoccupied with two very difficult back-to-back cases these past two weeks she and Callen hadn't managed to meet up outside of OPS and continue their discussion about their... relationship, for want of a better word.

But Hetty's wasn't finished yet. "And who is this lovely young lady you're with?"

Nell struggled to comprehend the words. So she took in the visual details instead one by one, slowly, as Hetty and Callen and his companion exchanged introductions. It was definitely Callen; her Callen. Dressed smart in black pants and a fitted black t shirt. And his arm was around the waist of a tall, slim attractive blonde with the brightest green eyes Nell had ever seen. They looked striking together – as if they had jumped straight off the cover of a health magazine. The woman was poised but the way in which she tugged at her high skirt-line betrayed her slight nerves and discomfort with her dress choice.

Now they were approaching this side of the table. A numbness spread from her limbs to Nell's face, freezing her smile firmly in place.

Eric was shaking the woman's hand warmly; no, Louise's hand; people were calling her Louise. She worked at the hospital, as a paramedic. They were also referring to her as Callen's date, but her brain wouldn't allow that piece of information to loop fully into her consciousness.

Now it was her turn. People were looking at her expectantly; all except Callen, who was looking studiously at the menu. The numbness was now absolute, rigidly so, and in real danger of shattering. That would be messy – disastrously so. She couldn't afford to lose control in front of these people.

She needed to escape, less the white hot anger, embarrassment and upset spill forth and consume her absolutely. There was nothing else for it. She bottled up her turmoil as tightly as possible, and would refuse to acknowledge Callen's cruel betrayal until she was in a safe harbour. It was autopilot time.

Nell stood, grasped the outstretched hand enthusiastically, said her name, released her hand. There, that wasn't so hard. Now she needed to focus, to listen to what this creature had to say in order to find an escape from the situation.

"I didn't realise I would be the only date; I hope you don't mind," Louise said apologetically, with a facial tick which in any other circumstance would have made Nell like her immediately. She settled down into her chair but Nell stayed where she was. She knew she should probably sit but her legs were refusing to comply. After a few seconds she realised Eric was staring at her, worry plain on his face. Still her legs were refusing to comply. Everyone else was, for the moment, engaged in conversation and mercifully paying her little or no attention. It would have to be now.

"I'm not feeling great," she said, as casually as possible, to Eric, and the words sounded lame even to her. His eyebrows raised in concern, and he turned to Louise.

"You're sat by the right person then," he said with a nervous laugh, attempting to diffuse a situation he didn't understand.

"You do look pale, Nell," Louise replied neutrally, "can I get you a glass of water?"

"That's not going to cut it," Nell said, and with dismay noted the tension that had crept into her voice. Her control was already faltering. "It's a migraine. I think I need to go home."

She sensed rather than saw Callen look at her and wondered what he would be thinking. He was probably hoping she wouldn't make a scene. When she looked in that direction he was already looking back down at the menu, but Kensi, Deeks and Nate were now giving the situation their full attention.

"I'd be happy to take you," Nate said smoothly; too quickly for Nell's liking.

"I'm sure there's no need for that," Eric interjected. "Let's get you some fresh air." He was already on his feet and fetching their coats from the stand behind their table, and then began to guide her outside gently.

Her legs were moving, taking her closer to the exit; upon the threshold; through it. Just as Eric put a comforting hand on her shoulder a few hot and angry tears began to spill. With a strong will of control she hadn't known she possessed she made them stop.

"Oh, Nell," the way he said her name struck a chord deep within her; if she wanted to be with this man instead of the unworthy one back inside, life would be so much simpler. He would take care of her, and he would certainly never make her cry. Here was someone who was truly devoted to her. But it was never going to happen.

"It's Callen, isn't it?" Eric asked quietly. There was no judgement there; it was entirely neutral. Verging on sympathetic perhaps.

She didn't answer him, and for the first time in their friendship she wasn't the first one to pull away when he hugged her.


	6. Chapter 6 - Shake, Rattle And Roll

By the time the door to the the men's bathroom had swung shut behind Sam, Callen was already in place in front of a urinal and unzipping the fly of his pants. There was no way he could have managed to position himself so quickly unless he had intentionally hurried, which Sam strongly suspected was the case. Callen had known Sam would follow him in, in order to get him alone at the earliest possible opportunity; as ever, he was reluctant to discuss his private life with his partner. He had his back to him; a stonewall. Callen was determined not to have this conversation, or to at least delay it as long as possible.

Callen should have thought long and hard about that before causing a scene at _Sam's_ birthday dinner; the evening Sam and Michelle had spent so much time and effort to organise.

During moments such as this one, when Sam was entirely honest with himself, he acknowledged that this particular aspect of Callen hurt him deeply. Didn't he often invite Callen to family events? Wasn't he open about the infrequent problems and tensions he sometimes faced in his home life? Like Callen, he wasn't great at discussing his feelings; and privately, saw indulging in such an activity too often as a weakness. Regardless, he trusted Callen as a brother, and shared with him. He had always hoped it would eventually cut the other way. Although it had appeared to head that way for a time, with Callen opening up more and more about his past, for example, when it came to women especially, Callen remained a closed book.

Most hurtful of all, Nell had known about Callen's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder before Sam. They had been partners for seven years, and close friends for most of that time, and yet Callen hadn't confided in him first.

Those were the reasons why Sam now found himself - slightly irrationally and perhaps overreacting – downright indignant as he fired the first salvo of the encounter.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asked, slightly louder than he had intended, and there was open aggression in the words.

Callen's posture immediately stiffened, but when he glanced back over his shoulder at Sam his expression was insolent and his tone breezy: "I need to draw you a diagram?"

Rather than diffuse the situation, it only served to enrage Sam further.

"Don't play games with me, G," he said after a pause, his tone of voice still just as hot. For a split moment Callen seemed shocked by Sam's assertive stance, but before Sam could be absolutely sure of that, Callen's head quickly snapped back front, facing the wall.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," Sam continued. He wouldn't capitulate; not this time. Slowly, Callen took a step back and began to do up his fly, which was just as well. This wasn't a confrontation Sam wanted to have with Callen's tackle out.

* * *

The entire jumbled, raw narrative of events spilled from Nell as Eric listened in thoughtful silence. When she reached the part about her conversation with Callen on the pier two weeks earlier, Eric's expression grew more and more alarmed. Despite Callen's public admission to sending Nell _those_ flowers, he hadn't realised the man was seriously interested in his Nell. Not in a I-want-to-screw-you way; and certainly not in a possible r-word sense.

He had known Nell wanted Callen; all of him. Of course he had. When it came to everything but the one thing he wanted to know most - her feelings for _him_ – he could read her like a book and there was no way she could have kept it from him. The discovery about the flowers had been a major irritant, but he had hoped it would all blow over, had still harboured a deep desire that eventually Nell would look at him in the same way he did her.

He watched as Nell wiped at her nose with the back of her hand and knew, now more than ever, that it was never to be. Nell's want for Callen had gone much further than Eric had ever feared possible, and he found himself concerned not only for Nell's feelings, but also her career. He had to make absolutely sure.

"He was fully... serious?" He asked, breaking his silence, and instantly wished he had phrased the thought more delicately. He often put his foot in his mouth like this. That's why they paid him the big bucks to sit in front of a computer screen all day long and rarely let him out amongst people. Computers he got; they were always logical and honest.

Nothing about this situation made sense, and it made his head hurt.

"What do you mean?" Nell sounded defensive, as he knew she would. "You think he's out of my league; is that it?"

"Not at all," Eric answered softly, and instantly. There followed an awkward silence; Eric had no idea what to say next. They were in entirely uncharted waters, added to which, he was reluctant to discuss Callen with Nell; it would be no less painful but easier in a way were it someone else who had – to all intents and purposes – toyed with her. Callen (and to a lesser extent, Sam) still intimidated Eric. He knew they respected him and his abilities, but was just as sure that they found him and his interests frivolous and childish. They had mocked his Spiderman pyjamas.

Then again, he'd do pretty much anything for Nell.

"Want me to kick his butt?" he asked.

It had the desired effect; Nell laughed loudly, incredulous at the offer, drawing a few stares from passer-bys, but Eric didn't notice. He had diffused the situation perfectly. Nell was no longer crying. They were making progress.

* * *

"You're the one who told me that it would be a bad idea to get involved with Nell," Callen said, coming straight to the point. His voice broke slightly when he said her name, but other than that he gave the appearance of not having a care in the world.

"Oh, no," Sam replied, "Don't pin this on me. What I said was, it wouldn't be a smart move to date someone you have a close working relationship with."

"Which makes you a hypocrite, by the way."

Sam ignored the barb and continued. "I said you should let her down gently. I said nothing about humiliating her in front of pretty much everyone she knows in the tri-state area." When Callen broke eye contact, he felt his pulse quicken. "What are you even _thinking_?"

Callen's eyes met Sam's again. "I don't want to discuss this, so just back off," he said, calmly enough, but Sam would tell Callen's own temper was beginning to flare. He hadn't expected this. He had expected contrition, or ignorance. Not an anger to rival his own.

"I can't do that," Sam said, struggling to rein in his own temper. If he wasn't careful, this was going to spiral out of control, not to mention any sense of proportion. He tried a different tack. "I can't believe that you would be capable of something like this. This isn't you."

But even as he said the words, Sam knew he had deep reservations about the assertion. He thought in particular about Callen's misguided treatment of Kristen Donnelly, and also his toxic relationship with Tracy. Callen had never been in a conventional long-term relationship before, and his past actions suggested a tendency to react in a knee-jerk, and sometimes hurtful, manner when it came to women he cared about deeply. Or was he being unfair? Sam had never had reason to think along those lines, and was reluctant to do so now. It was in one sense besides the point. On a deeper level, he didn't want to closely examine his friends flaws.

It was also exactly why Sam had been nagging Callen to settle down and find a nice girl for years now.

The two men warily regarded each other, and for an irrational moment Sam feared Callen was reading his mind. What they shared would sometimes, in moments of great stress, border on what some would term 'physic'. It was partly why they made such an effective team; when it came to gauging the other's mood and train of thought, they were second to none. Could Callen tell that he was having grave doubts about his character?

If Callen did, he didn't mention it directly, saying instead, "It's better this way. Easier."

With that he attempted to sidestep around Sam and leave, but the other man was quicker. He blocked his path, instinctively, and they both knew there was no going back.

"Easier for who?" Sam asked. With another conscious effort he again reined in the fire, but wasn't sure he would be able to do it for a third time. "Not Nell, that's for sure."

Callen remained rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed over Sam's shoulder, on the exit sign behind and above Sam. "_Back off_," he said again, more force behind his words this time, and he made again as if to leave.

Sam gripped the other man's arm tightly, without thinking, but kept it there. "_Easier for who_?" Sam repeated, tightening his hold because there could be no retreat.

* * *

"I'm okay," Nell said, completing the hasty patch job to her make-up with a quick wipe of her finger tips underneath both eyes. She handed back the compact mirror she had loaned from a nearby smoker with a nod of thanks.

"Let's go back inside," she said, addressing Eric, who had been mostly staring at his feet whilst she worked.

She put her arm through his and they made their way back through the lobby and to their seats, and this is what he said to her:

"For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot for throwing away the chance to have something with someone like you."

It was clumsily worded, and awkwardly said, but it was exactly what she needed to hear.

When he sat down heavily in his chair,s he bent low and kissed his forehead chastely and replied:

"Thanks for having my back, partner."

* * *

"Easier for _me!_"

The words came, torn, from Callen's throat, and as they echoed around the small tiled space he pulled loose and leaned heavily against a nearby sink, his fingers gripping the enamel in what would have been a death grip on flesh.

Stupefied, Sam decided to let him have some space and backed a few steps away.

Callen wasn't done. "It's the only way," he said, and his voice sounded tortured. He was addressing Sam by looking back at him in the mirror that hung over the gold taps, which he now turned on. "If I let her down gently, we remain on good terms. The chances of something happening between us remains high and I won't be able to help myself." With a shudder, he lowered his head and splashed some of the cold water droplets on to his face.

Sam remained silent behind him, watched as Callen's breathing began to return to normal. The muscles in the other man's back were rippling under his black t-shirt. After a moment, Callen straightened and blotted at his face with a paper towel, but didn't turn to face his friend. Instead, he continued to address him through the mirror.

"She's under my skin, Sam. Deep in here." Callen jabbed a finger to his chest, agitatedly. "It's suffocating."

Again, Sam said nothing. What Callen was describing was bringing back memories of how he had felt when he had first realised that he was falling in love with Michelle, but he kept this counsel to himself. He clenched his jaw and let Callen let loose some more.

"Don't you see?" Callen asked, and his voice was beginning to lose it's initial passion. "The only alternative I have is to pull some strings and have her transferred; she moved across the country for this job. She just got settled. She loves this job." He paused for air. "So yeah, I committed a lesser evil. I hurt her, just enough, to kill any feelings she has for me. I don't even care if it makes her hate me, so long as it doesn't affect the job."

Callen's voice became emotionless, and his shoulders slumped. "I told her to think things over, when really it was me who needed to think more clearly. No, this is the best way. This way she keeps the job she loves. Me, she'll get over."

The door behind opened and closed, depositing an overweight stranger in his fifties. The man took one look at the two quarrelling men and darted into a stall. Sam closed the distance between him and Callen to give them more privacy and was relieved when Callen turned to face him at the same time.

"And you get to keep her in your life," Sam said in a low, restrained voice. "Very clever, G."

Callen raised his eyebrows, to all appearances confused by the implication, but Sam suspected that instead Callen was attempting to manipulate him.

"You may think what you're doing is noble. You may even have honestly convinced yourself of it. But it's not." And here Sam inched closer, and Callen looked straight back, nonplussed, awaiting Sam's ultimate judgement, which quickly followed: "It's selfish."

Callen continued to stare straight back, silent and unrepentant. His mouth was open slightly and he was quietly panting, his skin flushed. That was how Sam knew he had succeeded in getting through to him. There was hope.

But there was one more issue to resolve first.

"What about Louise?"

Callen cleared his throat; straightened his back and spoke; perhaps apologetically. "I'm going to take care of that, too."

* * *

Immediately after dinner – as soon as was socially acceptable – Nell left in a cab. She embraced them all warmly and assured them her migraine would be gone before tomorrow. All except Callen, who she merely nodded to instead. Louise, mercifully, was occupied by Hetty. Once Hetty's interrogation of Callen's date was complete, she escorted Louise back to the group and made her own exit, although in considerably more style. She was ushered into a limousine which already contained a large number of incredibly well dressed people, and with a wave she was gone.

"Well, the group average height just shot up a foot," Deeks remarked dryly as both vehicles disappeared into the thin late night city traffic. "So, where we off to next?" He directed the question to Callen, Louise and Kensi offhandedly before turning to Nate and Eric. "You guys are in too, right?"

Nate looked apologetic. "Actually, I have plans with Rose."

Deeks checked his watch, though he knew perfectly well what time it was. "Beginning at eleven-thirty? Not so much plans as a booty call, my friend." His patted the taller man on the back. "In which case, go with my blessing."

Nate scowled but didn't retort and Deeks watched, slightly uneasily, as he and the others said their goodbyes. He had often wondered – particularly in the early days – whether the others sometimes wished they still had Nate on board instead of him.

Nate seemed to be taking his time with Callen and stopped to say something just too quiet to be audible to Deeks, and Callen's face blanched. It made a nice change to see Nate push Callen's buttons for once rather than the other way around, especially considering Callen wasn't exactly in Deeks's good books right now.

He had spent a lot of time analysing the situation in the past two weeks and had begun to suspect that his initial reaction to what he had perceived to be a jealous fit on Kensi's part wasn't quite accurate. It had been made in the heat of the moment. Surely if Kensi really did have feelings for Callen, Deeks would have known, or at least suspected, and the chances of her suddenly falling head over heels for Callen was, he considered, remote.

On the other hand, there was no denying that Kensi's reaction to what she had seen had been a strong one, which meant there was something she was keeping from him. That didn't sit easy. He had resolved more than once in the intervening time to have it out with her, but the timing had never been right; not with their workload. So he had left it be, chickened out maybe, and hoped she would be the first to try and fix things.

Perhaps tonight would be the night. She seemed more relaxed than she had ever been since their falling out, and he knew the pointed looks she was often shooting in his direction tonight were not merely the product of his imagination.

He wondered if she missed his presence in her bed as much as he did. But more than that – and he felt like a little girl for thinking this, but god it was true – more than the sex he missed her company. Their banter. The fun they had whenever they were together.

It was time to begin mending fences.

"I'm ducking out too, guys," Eric said once Nate was gone. "I'm going to stay and hang with Sam and his family for a little longer, then I'm off home. I have a match first thing tomorrow, so..."

"A match?" Callen asked, humourlessly.

"Halo," Eric said by way of explanation, but rather than give a goofy smile and shrug of his shoulders as he normally did when Callen teased his geekiness, he instead shot him a dark look.

Deeks stepped in quickly. "Well, you have fun with that," he said, mock dismissive, and snaked an arm around Kensi's waist. She allowed him to do so without comment, "And we grown ups will go have some adult fun of our own."

The tense look between Eric and Callen lasted a moment longer and then it was over, and fifteen minutes later the remaining four were depositing themselves in the booth of an unfamiliar bar Louise recommended which was situated half a mile away.

Offering to get the first round in, Deeks made his way to the bar and tried in vain to get the attention of one of the two barmaids serving. The bar area was busy and they were, rightly, serving the regulars first, so Deeks used his waiting time to puzzle over Callen's odd behaviour. Why he was here with someone else when he appeared to be interested in Nell? Deeks quickly dismissed the thought. It wasn't that he didn't care; he simply had more pressing things to worry about.

Such as the guy who appeared to be trying it on with Kensi in his absence.

He wandered back over to the booth with an air of exaggerated nonchalance and inserted himself in-between Kensi and the – damn him, younger – undeniably attractive man. "There you are, honey," he cooed, allowing an arm to casually drape over Kensi's shoulders. Kensi snuggled close to him, and Deeks allowed himself a moment to enjoy her closeness before turning back to face the stranger.

"Thanks for looking after the wifey in my absence, man," he said, and sounded sincere. The other man blinked in confusion.

"Wife? I don't see no wedding ring."

Deeks thought quickly, came upon an idea, and almost dismissed it as being too audacious.

But he went ahead with it anyway. Partly for his own amusement, and but mostly to see if Kensi would go along with it, and hence judge more accurately how things lay between them.

"One day," he said, wistfully, "we've always said, haven't we honey? When we have the same rights as heterosexuals, _everywhere_, that's when we'll officially tie the knot," Deeks said, his grin broadening.

He felt Kensi stiffen at his side and briefly worried he had gone too far. She stayed silent, a smile fixed on her face.

Their guest moved his eyes to Kensi, and they were wide and incredulous. "You're kidding," was all he said.

"Oh sure, he's quite the looker _now_, ain't he?" Deeks said, proudly. "Hang on, let me get my cellphone and I'll show you a before picture; man, the work cost a fortune, but it was worth every cent. You don't mind my saying that, do you sweetie?" he asked, addressing this to Kensi. "I'll be sure to stop the slide show before we get to the photos of the intensive undercarriage work you had done over in Europe."

When Deeks turned back to the man, he was gone. He dared a look back at Kensi, and found her giggling, hands clasped, with Louise.

Callen was shaking his head. "You're a sick man, Deeks," he admonished.

"And slightly offensive," Louise added, a twinkle in her eye, as she fidgeted with a beer mat.

Just as Deeks was noting that Callen hadn't once touched Louise this evening, not even fleetingly, he realised his arm was still around Kensi. She hadn't moved; neither had he.

"Back the bar I go," he mumbled, pulling away.

"Bring back drinks this time," Callen called after him.

Just before he reached the throng of people still crowded around the bar, Deeks realised that Kensi had joined him. They stood side by side at the bar, and this time Deeks didn't care how long the service took. And then Kensi took his hand.

"We need to talk," she stated simply, and to his mind's eye, the bar was empty and silent but for the two of them.

"I know," he answered. He made a quick decision "But not now." If they went home together tonight, without resolving things, it could prove to be a fatal mistake. No, he was doing this thing right. "Your place. Tomorrow evening. With clear heads." He paused, plundered on, taking a gamble. "All cards on the table."

She nodded in agreement, and released his hand. He felt a twinge of guilt, because he already knew he had no intention of sticking to that agreement.

There was no way he would let her know he was seriously considering leaving NCIS to give any possible relationship between them a viable shot. He knew she'd successfully talk him out of it in misplaced loyalty, and where would that leave them?

* * *

_Aaaaand we're almost half way through the story!_

_Thank you for each and every piece of feedback, every follow, every favourite. I sincerely hope you're enjoying the ups and downs. I'm trying to deliver something a bit different. It's very tempting to write the NCIS:LA bunch as flawless and infallible – I wanted to play on some of their flaws in this story and have them screw up, but ultimately make amends. I hope I'm at least part way succeeding._


	7. Chapter 7 - A Little Less Conversation

It was 1995 and rookie CIA agent G Callen was stationed in a violate London, undercover as a fresh face in an East European human trafficking gang. Their livestock were almost entirely female, young and destined for one of three run-down houses in an inner city neighbourhood where a life of abject misery and sexual slavery awaited them.

As heartless as it may seem, the CIA weren't too interested in the girls themselves. They would stay largely in the South East of England and were of no concern to the US and its interests; they were the United Kingdom's problem.

What _did_ concern the United States was the gang's leader; or, namely, his growing interest in obtaining chemical weapons and using the Yugoslav Wars as a cover to settle some scores in arenas both business and personal. Unchecked, he was potentially capable of tipping an already desperate and bloody conflict into absolute chaos.

Callen's time in London was to be a very difficult and raw baptismal passage into the life of espionage. He not only witnessed, but also committed unspeakable atrocities in the name of US security. Sometimes his victims were uncooperative girls but more frequently men; snitches, mostly.

He made a concerted effort to remain low in the pecking order and as a result was blessedly never given much of the real dirty work to do. Most of his work involved delivering messages, collecting – and when necessary, extracting - protection money, and looking tough.

But occasionally his loyalty would be tested and he would have no choice other than to get his hands dirty. One time, he was told to break the hand of a man who frequently accompanied him on message runs. Apparently he had been spotted in the company of a man recently revealed to be an undercover British police detective.

Callen would never forget the dead, dull weight of the brick, the protestations and desperate struggles of the unfortunate soul. Most imprinted onto his memory was the crunching sound that followed when he slammed that weight down on to gnarled knuckles.

He was sometimes paid in girls rather than in cash but he never touched a single one. It was a complicated and precarious position to be in whenever it occurred and one he dreaded with a passionate intensity; he couldn't afford the risk of showing them kindness or worse, indifference, lest he arise their suspicions and face the possibility of one of the desperate creatures blabbing to someone.

And so although all he wanted to do was give them a kind word, a glimmer of hope, in those close, dank bedrooms what he did instead was convince them that he liked to watch.

By that point in his life he was already exceptionally good at switching off when he needed to. Being able to retreat into a safe place within his mind and stonewall the hell around him had enabled him to survive foster care. He used the same skill now to see through the grimy skin and dead eyes, the lank hair and delicate bones, and not register any of it. On those nights, nothing happened.

Callen made one fatal mistake during his time in London; he developed a friendship with one of the older girls, Cornelia. She was twenty-five, and despite the brutality and drug addled nature of her pitiful existence she was the one ray of sunshine within his. Cornelia saw the best in everything and would look out for the new arrivals, no mean feat given all she was up against. Some of the other girls called her Nell.

During the sunrises, whilst everyone else was beginning to snatch whatever sleep they could, they would talk in their shared language – Russian. She spoke of a simple village life: her grandmother's cooking, and of a hard but satisfying existence on a family farm.

At first, he found her upbeat attitude and rambling recollections absurd; why did she insist on talking to him as if they were living a normal, pleasant life - whiling away an afternoon in a coffee shop, perhaps? But as he got to know her better he realised it was her method of survival; and although she never trusted him enough to reveal so, she hoped to keep herself together enough to escape.

Or so he later surmised with the gift on hindsight.

In return he would entertain her with an entirely fictionalised account of his own upbringing based on a mixture of true stories he had heard from others, with some additions from private fantasies he had harboured as a broken young boy being passed from pillar to post in the US foster care system. It seemed to bring her some comfort.

He dreamed of her sometimes, even when awake. He dreamed of her now.

He dreamed of her failed escape attempt. He had been awoken early; shafts of weak early morning light streamed in through a gap in the window pane. There was a commotion in the yard outside.

Peering down cautiously he saw her on her knees on the rubbish strewn cobbles below. Her chestnut hair was tightly wound around a man's fist; Sergey, one who took great pleasure in the dirty work. He was pulling her head back by the hair, yelling in her face.

Enough fractured Russian reached his vantage point to make him realise that Sergey was going to made an example of his ray of sunshine. A very public, violent example; one she wouldn't live through.

This is what happened next. She looked up, spied Callen, and smiled – she actually smiled, as if to reassure him. Callen thought it a ridiculous action at the time but would consider it the most selfless thing he had ever seen up until his dying day. He briefly closed his eyes and felt the sting of forming tears.

When his eyes reopened he was looking down in to the face of the wrong Nell. A Nell who had been a small child when the real event had occurred, but at that moment she looked just as he knew her today. She wasn't smiling; she was screaming.

As had happened to Cornelia, her neck was then broken. And rather than be grimly pleased that Cornelia would be spared a long, drawn out death, he cried out for Nell and felt an intense pain radiate from his chest.

He had been pulled out of London two days later; the mission aborted. The special agent he had been supporting in the operation had never managed to extract any useful information and the agent in charge had suspected that their cover was about to be blown.

The entire harrowing assignment had been for naught. The only thing Callen gained was some fresh nightmares, and yet more horror to repress.

* * *

Louise was running late for a shift, as was usual. Cramming the remainder of her toast into her already full mouth, she wiped crumbs from the front of her green paramedics uniform and cast an anxious look through the empty door frame and into her small lounge. Sure enough, Chris was still there on the sofa. Still asleep, and still mumbling in what sounded like Russian.

She pulled her hair up into a hasty ponytail. There was nothing for it. She would have to wake him.

Crouching gingerly on the arm of the white leather sofa, she felt incredibly awkward about intruding upon the sleep of an almost stranger. She had become painfully aware very early on into the previous evening that the reason he had brought her along was to make a point to some unspecified person. She guessed that person was either Nell, or Sam.

It didn't really matter. She'd had a great evening, met some fascinating people, and it hadn't cost her a cent. And truth be known, she actually much preferred tall blondes. Were it not for his cute blue eyes, she would never have taken Chris up on his offer.

When he had offered to escort her home, she had felt a little irritated but had allowed him to do so all the same. She trusted him and doubted he would take no for an answer. When they reached her door it became obvious that he didn't want to be left alone. Of course, she had been wary about letting him inside – she didn't really know him, after all – but considered herself good at reading people. She could tell that sex wasn't on his mind any more than it was on hers.

Once he was comfortably seated on her sofa she had made him a mug of strong tea, passed him the spare duvet and the TV remote. They watched a late night shopping channel and she didn't leave the armchair until he was deeply asleep. Not exactly the most thrilling night of her life.

Chris was certainly a complication she didn't want, and needed even less. But here she was. It wasn't in her nature to turn away someone in need.

"Time to wake up," she said softly, shaking him by the shoulder.

He awoke with a start and pulled away defensively, but only for a moment. He took in his unfamiliar surroundings with a surprising air of complacency and rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw. Louise knew in that moment that this was a regular situation for him to be in.

"What time is it?" He asked, croaky, and she wondered if he'd had more to drink last night than she had realised.

"Time to wake _up_," she repeated, forcing a note of cheerfulness into her voice.

He seemed to pull himself together some as he rose to his feet, clothes crumpled, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He suddenly looked at least five years younger.

"Sorry if I put you out," he said, searching the carpeted floor for his shoes. Locating them beside the television, he sat on one of the tall kitchen stools and began to slip them on.

"Don't worry about it," Louise replied dismissively, placing a tall glass of orange juice in front of him. "Listen, it's been magical and all, but I'm running really late. So drink up and let's go."

He began to drink without a word.

"So feel free to tell me to mind my own business and all," Louise said, joining him at the counter and pulling on a pair of black trainers, "but where'd you learn Russian?"

Chris paused; carefully placed the glass back on the counter. "Louise, we're international accountants. Being multilingual is part of the job. Want to hear some French, Spanish, Italian, Polish or-?"

"Maybe later," she cut him off. Chris and the work colleagues he had introduced her to last night were certainly the most unusual group of accountants she had ever met; then again, how many accountants _had_ she actually met? Maybe they were all crazy.

If Chris was curious as to when she had heard him speak Russian, he didn't let on.

"Thanks for last night," he said instead. For a moment she thought he might kiss her cheek, but the moment passed and he merely clasped her arm with a warm hand instead.

He didn't promise to call her. Didn't gush about what a fantastic night he'd had. She appreciated his honesty, and to her surprise found herself missing him for the remainder of her day.

* * *

Deeks found Eric on aisle six closely examining the back of a packet of Cap'n Crunch cereal.

He contemplated turning right around and pretending not to have seen him, but relented. He may be impatient to get to Kensi's place but he could spare five minutes to say hello. He clutched his shopping close to his chest (bottle of white wine and a pack of chewing gum) and brought his mouth close to Eric's ear.

"Ahoy there, matey!"

To his disappointment Eric didn't act startled in any way. Instead, he merely cast Deeks a slightly bored look over his shoulder and returned his greeting.

"I have to be careful with certain additives," Eric said by way of explanation, placing the box of cereal into his shopping cart. "Plays havoc with the old digestive system if I'm not careful."

"Too much information," Deeks mumbled, coming around to face the other blond man.

"Special plans?" Eric asked. He was giving careful attention to Deeks's well groomed appearance; the black leather jacket; his best jeans; he even smelled good.

"Me? No," Deeks lied, and had no idea why. Eric knew full well that he and Kensi often saw each other when off the clock. What did it matter if he knew that was where he was headed right now? Too late to correct himself now.

"Night in front of the box and an early night for me. We, ah, stayed out a little late last night."

"Right," Eric said, his attitude turning frosty. "You, Kensi, Callen, and... Louise?"

"Yeah, Louise," Deeks replied, beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable. He hadn't given the situation much thought the night before, but was he being disloyal to Nell by spending time with Callen and Louise? He'd been more than a little preoccupied by his desire to fix things with Kensi.

"Louise is okay; if you're into tall, statuette blondes with a great rack and flawless skin, I guess."

The joke backfired; Eric didn't give even a hint of a smile. "Enjoy drinking alone," he said dryly, nodding to the bottle still clasped to Deeks's chest, and brushed past.

Left scratching his head, Deeks resolved to step-up and try to help Eric referee whatever was going on – once things were settled with Kensi.

* * *

Two of her team were still hard at it despite light having just given way to darkness. Upstairs, Nell sat bent over her workstation committing overkill on a small side-project Hetty had given her that morning. So, nothing unusual there.

On the opposite side of the ground floor, alone in the bullpen, Callen was hunched over his desk working on who knew what. He still had on the clothes he had been wearing last night; this more than anything else alarmed Hetty. It was so unlike him.

It would seem that he had spent the night away from home; probably with the young blond he had brought to dinner. Hetty had liked the girl immediately – she was bright, driven, and seemingly wholly committed to her life's calling. There was a lot to admire there, and a lot she could relate with.

Even better, she had been quick to realise that Callen had brought her along under false pretences; she had said as much to Hetty as they parted, who had responded that she would make a fine secret agent. No, Louise wasn't the one for Callen; that much was clear. She doubted she would ever see the girl again.

But why hadn't Callen changed his clothes? She knew for a fact that he had more than one spare pair of jeans and t-shirt in his locker, to say nothing of the vast array of outfits in the wardrobe department.

She considered summoning him over, plying him with scotch and digging for the root cause of his recent uncharacteristic behaviour but quickly dismissed the idea - to do so right now would only drive him further from her. Although not clear on the specifics she knew Sam had tried direct action, and now there appeared to be a wedge placed firmly between both men.

A noise brought her out of her reverie; Nell was taking the stairs two at a time, her shoulder bag hanging low and hitting the back of her knees.

"Night, Hetty!" Nell called, and Hetty raised her teacup in response.

"Good night, Miss Jones."

Hetty continued to observe. She watched, with growing unease, as Nell deposited a closed ring-binder on Sam's unoccupied desk. Callen looked up at the movement and the two locked gazes. Nell's face was difficult to read – Hetty had never seen the expression on the young woman's face before.

Callen's face was easier: it was filled with sadness, and, longing. The two didn't exchange pleasantries, or goodbyes – or even a word. Nell simply turned on her heel and made her exit.

Hetty lowered her teacup to its saucer with hands which were trembling. This hadn't been in her plan for Callen. No, this had blind-sided her entirely, and that did not happen very often.

It would need to be dealt with with delicacy and precision, for the task she had given Nell was to go through every official report filed by Callen during his time at the CIA and find a loose thread.

* * *

Nate rubbed at tired eyes and closed the top of his laptop. It was four in the morning in this corner of the world and he had to be up and ready to move to a new location in four hours. Just before the lid clicked into place, he heard the beep which sounded whenever he received a new Skype message.

He debated whether or not to ignore it but ultimately curiosity won over and he re-opened the screen. It wasn't a message from Rose, as he had expected. It was from Kensi.

_Deeks on way over. It's make or break time. Advice?_

He smiled, glad of the distraction from his grim surroundings, but more than anything glad for his friend. He typed his response and hit send.

_Be honest._

He had every intention of finally turning in there and then, but was assailed by one final interruption; an email from an old colleague, Paul, who was currently practising psychiatry in Los Angeles. Paul sometimes asked for advice with difficult patients – not exactly ethical, but so long as no names and no great detail was used it sometimes went on.

He liked Paul a great deal; had graduated with him, had attended his wedding. He read on, and instantly wished he had left this one until morning.

_Patient has government agency background – covert, trust I need say no more? - which is why you're my first port of call. Still your area, I trust. PTSD diagnosis. Finds it easier to live under an alias than be himself. Particularly brutal childhood: no family, aged five saw mother murdered. Over thirty foster home placements._

Nate stopped reading, placed his head in his hands, debated whether or not he should continue. In the strictest sense this was a betrayal. But Paul would need a response, and Nate would have no sleep until the thing was done.

_Main concern is his reluctance to report PTSD diagnosis to superiors – can you please advise on regs? Do not believe him to be a danger to himself or others at present time. No waking flashback episodes for over three months and is responding well to treatment._

"Oh, Callen," Nate breathed, closing the laptop, and this time it stayed shut.

Nate had always known that Callen was more damaged than he let on. It was why he had always tried so hard to have an open and honest appraisal with him; was why Callen always wriggled out of them.

Callen was a master at repression, but eventually a hole always appeared in every set of armour.

His thoughts turned then to Nell, and he was afraid for her.

* * *

_Next time: Deeks and Kensi finally have an adult conversation about their feelings for one another, whereas Callen and Kensi have an almighty row. Nell doesn't know when to quit, and Eric and Sam bond in an unlikely way._


End file.
